In Place
by Thesamegirl
Summary: A continuation of Cracked. "Ian is rooted in place, his eyes glued to Mickey, and an expression of total shock on his face. Mickey would give him shit about his mouth hanging slightly open, but he suddenly can't breathe."


Mickey can still smell the bus, and he's been walking for over half an hour. After sitting through hell for over twenty four hours, the stench of piss, old Taco Bell, and too-sharp pine air freshener now clings to his sweatshirt. He'd take the damn thing off, but it's twenty degrees out, and the last thing he needs is to be frozen and smelling like shit. He took off his jacket earlier after finding something stuck to his sleeve that he could only hope was part of an old burrito, and he was already shivering; the contaminated hoodie would have to stay.

Now, three buses, two wrong turns, and ten blocks later, Mickey is wandering around the Westpoint campus feeling like a total tool. Somehow during the past never-ending hours of torture, Mickey had never considered how he was going to find Ian once he finally got to New York. The campus seems huge, and, dodging in and out of guys is camo carrying textbooks, Mickey has never felt so obviously out of place.

He briefly considers asking someone where the dorms are but quickly reconsiders when a group of guys walk by, and they're all wearing polo shirts. It's like he stepped onto the rank hell-bus in Chicago and stepped off onto another planet.

Almost five o'clock, the campus is starting to shut down, and out of desperation Mickey ducks into the administration building, hiking his bag further up on his shoulder and shoving his hands in his pockets. The receptionist looks up as he approaches, a slightly older woman with obviously-dyed blonde hair, and gives him a small smile, wordlessly asking what he needs.

Mickey drops his bag, a little too loudly based on the sideways glances he gets, and tries not to sneer at the "My name is Cindy" tag attached to her flowered cardigan.

"Where are the dorms?" Mickey blurts out before he continues, thinking it might not be the best time to act like a total dick, "I'm meeting someone."

"The barracks are on the east side of campus," Cindy replies, her smile slightly diminishing. "You need to be on the visitors list, however."

Mickey tries not to let his weight shift as he continues to meet the sharp gaze of the woman in front of him. "Yeah, I'm on it," he snaps.

"Your name?" The smile is completely gone now.

"Mickey."

Cindy's gaze scans up and down the front of her computer screen before she replies, still looking at the list. "Sorry, but there's no Mickey on here."

Fuck.

"He probably used my middle name," Mickey lies quickly, trying to get a glimpse of the screen.

"Which is?" she asks, beginning to set up a new search.

"John"

"And your last name?" she asks, still typing away.

"Smith," Mickey says, in the same tone he uses when telling Mandy or Iggy to fuck off for trying to take the last beer.

Cindy abruptly stops typing, her brows low as her unamused eyes flick up to Mickey, who's already picking up his bag to get the fuck out of there.

"Jesus Christ, is this a school or a fucking prison?" he mutters as he steps to the side, digging into his pocket for his phone. He'll have to call Mandy, maybe Ian told her where he's staying.

Mickey can't help but chuckle to himself. After begging Mickey to come with him and secretly buying him a ticket to New York, you'd think Ian would have thought ahead enough to put Mickey's name on the fucking visitors list. How else are they supposed to have the big gay reunion that Mickey is sure Ian has been planning in his head for the past few months?

"Fucking Gallagher," he mumbles while starting to dial Mandy's number.

"Gallagher?" a voice says behind him. He turns to see Cindy watching him with a single eyebrow raised. "Are you looking for Ian Gallagher?" she repeats with the beginnings of a smile.

When Mickey just stares at her, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, her smile stretches wider, and she continues, "The redhead cutie?"

Mickey quickly looks down because there's no fucking way he is going anywhere near that question. Cindy's smile is turning into a smirk, and she's now looking at him as if she knows he's seen Ian naked.

"Look, lady," Mickey starts, but she holds up a hand to interrupt him.

"A lot of cadets go to Joe's on Friday nights. There's pizza and darts and all that kind of stuff," Cindy starts to tell him. The smirk is gone and she's smiling at him like they share a secret, like he wasn't just about to tell her to fuck off. When Mickey just glares at her she spells it out for him, "You can probably find Mr. Gallagher there tonight."

When Mickey's continued attempts to stare her down have no effect on her amused gaze, he quickly grabs his bag again and turns to leave. He only goes a few steps before he freezes, realizing he has no clue where the fuck he's going.

"Out the door to your left three blocks and then right for two."

At Cindy's cheerful voice, his shoulders tense and his grip on his duffel tightens, but Mickey makes no other acknowledgement of her directions other than to storm out of the building. The air feels cool on his hot cheeks, and he starts to relax now that the building is behind him.

As Mickey turns left and starts walking, he isn't the least bit surprised that Ian has already managed to weasel his way in with psycho blondie back there; the fucker seems to make people love him wherever he goes.

Joe's is pretty empty when Mickey gets there, so he decides to keep walking and kill a few hours before heading back later that night.

He wanders up and down a few streets before finding a bench by the river; his shoulder is starting to ache from carrying his bag, and he sits down with a relieved sigh.

When Mickey had thought of coming to New York for Ian, he'd always imagined himself in the city, surrounded by traffic and run down buildings with prostitutes on the corner and a constant chill in the air regardless of the weather; he'd imagined another version on Chicago.

Now, sitting on the bank of the Hudson and watching the sun get ever lower in the sky, the lack of honking horns and shouting taxi drivers unsettles Mickey. It's too quiet, too peaceful. This small town is nothing like Chicago, and the enormity of what Mickey's done finally starts to hit him. He's out of the South Side.

A strange feeling starts to curl in his stomach, a combination of joy and amazement, all held in place by an overarching sense of paralytic fear. What the fuck is he doing here? He's sitting on a bench watching the sunset for fuck's sake; what made him think he could fit into this world?

Mickey can feel his heart rate begin to increase, a fine sweat breaking out despite the cold air, and he jumps up from the bench and starts walking back toward town. He needs Ian; he'll break into the dorms or something, fuck it, but he has to find Gallagher.

He passes Joe's on his way back to campus and sees it's a lot busier than before, crowded with laughing young people, many in some type of military clothing. Scanning the crowd, a flash of red catches his eye, and Mickey feels his stomach drop as he sees Ian for the first time in months. He's standing at a table with several guys, picking at a piece of pizza and listening to the guy across from him who's gesturing emphatically as he tells some story that has everyone laughing.

Ian's hair is shorter, cut in that military buzz that Mickey always had a love hate relationship with; Ian may look fucking hot, but Mickey has always preferred having something to grab onto. It looks like he's bulked up some, like his naturally wiry frame is starting to catch up with the amount of muscle he's packed on; he looks older.

Mickey feels his breath catch when Ian suddenly smiles, a wide, brilliant grin that instantly makes him look like the dopey fifteen year old kid that Mickey used to fuck in a refrigerator walk-in. He backs aways from the window and lights a cigarette, leaning against the wall and waiting. No fucking way is he going in there after him, and Ian will be out soon enough; Mickey refuses to keep staring at him through the window like some faggot.

He glances over every time the door opens, a hollow feeling flipping in his stomach whenever he hears the click of the door handle. It's never Ian, though, and Mickey eventually settles down, looking over out of habit whenever someone exits without that squirmy feeling assaulting him every time.

After freezing his ass off for over an hour, Mickey half-heartedly looks over when the door opens again, only to push himself off the wall so quickly when he sees Ian that he's amazed he doesn't fall on his face. He stands there, his fifth cigarette clutched in his hand, as Ian pauses to wait for everyone in his group to catch up. One of the guys that comes out puts a hand on his shoulder, and they're laughing as they turn to walk back toward campus.

Mickey's frozen in place; Ian hasn't seen him, and he realizes that he's actually going to have to call out to him like some needy little bitch. His eyes focus in on the hand on Ian's shoulder, and when he sees its grip tighten he acts before he realizes it.

"Hey!" he calls out, not sure if he's talking to Ian or the douchbag touching him.

Five or six head turn towards him before looking away again when they see that Mickey's no one they know, and as the group start to walk again, it takes them a few steps to notice that one of them is no longer there.

Ian is rooted in place, his eyes glued to Mickey, and an expression of total shock on his face. Mickey would give him shit about his mouth hanging slightly open, but he suddenly can't breathe. He can see Ian's arms dangling loosely at his sides, as if all he can focus on is staring at the man in front of him, and the rest of his body is forgotten.

"Mickey?" he breathes out, and it's so soft that Mickey feels like he reads his name on Ian's lips more than hears him actually say it.

"Hey, Gallagher," Mickey replies with a small smile.

Ian seems to wake up and takes a few steps towards him, shoving his hands in his pockets while his face struggles to find a balance between shock and a smile.

"Mickey."

When Ian says his name again, confirming that Mickey is actually in front of him, Mickey can't help but roll his eyes and look at him like he's a moron. Who the fuck else would it be?

Ian chuckles at the familiar glare, and then they're just staring at each other, neither moving besides the barely discernible motions of their shallow breathing.

"Ian!" a voice behind Ian interrupts, "let's go, we've got duty in the morning."

Ian holds up a hand but doesn't look away from Mickey, "Yeah, I'll be right there."

He takes a few steps closer to Mickey, his smile widening as the distance between them narrows; by the time he opens his mouth it's stretching the width of his face.

"I see you found the ticket."

"Oh don't look so fucking pleased with yourself," Mickey drawls out, seeing Ian's barely contained smugness, "What idiot would turn up a free trip to New York?"

"Just visiting then?" Ian asks unbelievingly, eyeing the size of the bag resting by Mickey's feet.

"It's open-ended."

Mickey's tone is deadpan, his eyes daring Ian to call his bluff, but Ian can probably see the small smile barely curling the corner of his mouth; Ian knows him far too well.

"Shit, Mickey," Ian whispers, moving to take another step closer.

"Ian!" the same guy yells, and Ian looks over his shoulder.

"Give him a fucking second, alright!" Mickey yells, watching the guy's eyebrows shoot up his forehead and determinately ignoring Ian's small grin at his response.

"Fuck, I gotta go," Ian says, his voice matching his now upset expression as his eyes go back to scanning Mickey's face, trying to see if anything has changed since he last saw him. "You got a place to stay? I'd say you could crash at mine, but the barracks' rules..."

Mickey tries to ignore the small kernel of disappointment in his gut and is proud when he manages not to scowl.

"Yeah, man, don't worry about it."

"Meet me here tomorrow, okay? I'll be done around noon."

Ian's talking quickly as if desperate to get it all out before Mickey can run away. His eyes are pleading, and as much as Mickey wants to be pissed off that he traveled half way across the country and isn't even getting a welcome-to-New-York blow job, he can see that Ian really doesn't want to walk away, so he gives a solid nod in response.

"Okay," Ian says, releasing the breath he was holding and sounding relieved, "so I'll see you tomorrow then."

Mickey just keeps looking at him until Ian finally turns and begins to walk back towards his friends, looking over his shoulder several times as he goes. Mickey doesn't move until they turn the corner. He looks down, realizes his cigarette burned out long ago, and throws the stub on the ground as he collapses back against the wall.

He doesn't know what he was expecting, that Ian would drop everything and run off into the night with him? Mickey snorts at his own stupidity. They'll meet up tomorrow and figure out what the fuck they're doing, but for now Mickey needs to find a place to crash. While he'd never acknowledged it, he hadn't thought he'd be spending his first night in New York alone.

"I think I left it on the pool table. Don't worry about it; I'll catch up!"

Mickey's head snaps up just in time to see Ian coming back around the corner, yelling over his shoulder before walking straight toward Mickey.

Ian's gaze is intense, a combination of need and determination, and as his eyes bore into Mickey's, Mickey pushes himself back off the wall, grinning smugly.

Mickey doesn't break their gaze as Ian strides purposefully toward him, and he's momentarily confused when Ian walks right by him until he feels a warm hand grip his wrist, and he's pulled around the corner and into a small alley.

"I thought you were too fucking bu - mmph!" Mickey's breath cuts off as he's slammed into a wall, and before he can catch it again Ian is on him.

Ian's mouth is hard and hot against his, his chest pressing him against the wall as his tongue pushes into Mickey's mouth, and Mickey forgets anything he'd been planning to say. His back arches against the brick behind him trying to eliminate any distance between them, needing to be closer to Ian, and his hands have such a tight grip on Ian's biceps that Mickey's sure there will be bruises tomorrow.

The silence that had made Mickey feel so out of place is now filled with the sounds of panting and muffled moans that can't fully escape before mouths are crushed together again. This is familiar; this is what Mickey knows, and it feels like any tension he ever felt is draining out of his body, and it's only the solid press of Ian's body that is keeping him standing.

Mickey is biting Ian's lower lip, his tongue tracing the edge of his mouth, when Ian finally breaks away, gasping.

"Fuck, I can't believe you're actually here," Ian says before moving his mouth to Mickey's neck and sucking on the spot behind his ear that always makes Mickey's breath catch. "I missed you so much," he whispers, the words pressed into Mickey's flesh.

Mickey manages a muffled "uh-huh" as he grabs either side of Ian's head and pulls him back to his mouth, needing more of the taste he'd thought he had memorized but now realizes is better than he ever could have imagined. And though Mickey doesn't say the words, doesn't admit that every moment without Ian seemed to stretch twice as long, the way his hands grab Ian's ass as he shoves his tongue into the redhead's mouth pretty much says it all.

Ian's hands are in his hair, pulling lightly while keeping their mouths glued together, and Mickey just wants to dissolve into him and never move from this spot. There's nothing but the two of them, their hot breath mingling as their limbs twine together, and even though they can never seem to get quite close enough, Mickey knows he would happily spend hours trying.

They pull away slowly at the same time, minds fuzzy from lack of oxygen; Ian bends forward, and Mickey can see his eyes are shut as Ian presses their foreheads together. He's about to object to the total sappiness of the position, but under the sound of their breathing, Mickey thinks he can almost hear the pounding of Ian's heart, and he finds himself leaning closer to him instead.

"You're here."

The words are whispered between them, and when Mickey nods he can feel Ian's hair brush against his forehead.

"Yeah, Gallagher," he pulls away to look Ian in the eye, "I'm here."

They finally manage to separate ten minutes later, when Ian realizes he can only pretend to look for his cell phone for so long and that he's going to be late for curfew.

After one more kiss, slow and deep, Mickey watches Ian walk back out to the main street, sending a grin over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Mickey leans against the wall, his fingers tracing the material of his shirt where it's bunched and wrinkled from Ian's grip. His phone buzzes in his pocket, breaking him out of his daze, and Mickey reluctantly looks at it, expecting another annoying, nosy text from Mandy.

He recognizes the number even though he stubbornly deleted it from his contacts a while ago, and he can't help but smile as he opens the message.

"Fuck it. Meet me behind Joe's at 11:30."

Mickey can feel his smile growing, and his head thumps against the wall as he looks up between the two adjacent buildings.

The sky is dark with no clouds to obscure the stars, and Mickey can see his breath curling in front of him as he starts to laugh.


End file.
